


Mark

by Maayacola



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:39:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maayacola/pseuds/Maayacola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark

It isn’t the first time.

Seungri’s skin is pale, but Jiyong’s skin is pale too, gentlest browns fading to even gentler pinks as Jiyong’s fingers slide down Seungri’s belly, so light that Seungri wouldn’t be able to feel it if all his attention weren’t on Jiyong, zeroed in to his every movement. 

Jiyong is wearing sleek fashionable shorts and a t-shirt that costs more money than Youngbae spends in a year, but Seungri is just naked, skin slick from the shower and slicker still from sweat. Seungri hadn’t known it was going to be one of these nights, but here he is; here Jiyong is, glazed eyes and wandering hands demanding that Seungri shut-up and say nothing.

Jiyong had smelled like smoke and sweat and party when he’d pushed Seungri down, mouthing obscenities into his neck as Seungri’s knees had buckled, falling down to his clean black cotton sheets as Jiyong had scrambled on top of him, pink hair sweat-stuck to his cheeks.

Seungri knows this is bad, but he can’t bring himself to stop it, no matter how many times he opens his mouth to say no. He sucks in his lower lip to hold in the sound, and Jiyong’s hands are like those of a ghost; barely there touches coaxing Seungri to half-hardness as they linger at his hip bones and along the light dusting of hair on his upper thighs.

Jiyong’s eyes are glazed from too much booze and too much pot, and they refuse to focus, but his hands don’t waver as he finally settles his palms across the flats of Seungri’s thighs, firm enough to push them apart, opening Seungri up. 

This is the part Seungri hates, because it’s humiliating. Jiyong’s hazy eyes look at him, and study him, and he always licks his lips, and Seungri gets harder and harder without being touched at all, just because Jiyong is looking at him like he’s something to eat. Seungri can feel the flush of embarrassment as it spreads across his throat and chest. Jiyong doesn’t notice, though, because he’s too busy leaning forward, pressing his mouth in a soft kiss to Seungri’s inner thigh; letting his lips part until it’s an open mouthed kiss, and his tongue is tracing patterns on the skin there as Seungri shivers and tries not to move. Jiyong’s hands slide down his thighs to his knees, gripping underneath and pushing Seungri’s knees apart further.

Seungri is trembling, and Jiyong’s eyes flicker up and catch Seungri’s. They’re molten, like lava, and Seungri secretly wishes Jiyong would look at him some other time when he’s not-

“Are you going to be difficult?” Jiyong asks, voice low and dark and manic, and this is Seungri’s chance to back out. He always gets a chance to back out.

“No,” Seungri replies, because he never takes it.

Jiyong bites down, into the flesh of his thigh, and Seungri hisses, because it hurts, but then Jiyong is soothing it with the flat of his tongue, long strokes across the stinging wound, and Seungri’s cock is full and heavy against his stomach. And then Jiyong’s hands are holding on too tight, fingertips digging into the flesh under his knees as he drags his teeth along the skin. 

Jiyong likes to bite. He leaves the marks where no one can see, but sometimes, in rehearsal, Seungri’s shorts will ride up on his thighs or his t-shirt will reveal a slice of back, and Jiyong will notice, eyes like embers until Seungri hastily tugs the material back down to cover Jiyong’s handiwork.

Sometimes Seungri thinks Jiyong likes to see the marks on his skin even more than he likes making them. Other times, he thinks that’s what Jiyong looks like when he regrets.

He bites down again, and Seungri can’t hold back the whimper as Jiyong’s perfect white porcelain veneers cut into his skin. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides, and Jiyong sucks there, where he’s marked, and Seungri is ashamed of the way it twists in his gut, and the way his erection throbs with every slurp of Jiyong’s mouth on his skin. “Hyung,” he whispers.

And then Jiyong moves to his right thigh, and Seungri’s breath comes shorter and goosebumps rise on the backs of his arms, and he needs… He needs something, but he doesn’t know what it is. 

Jiyong’s hands push back up again, dragging along the stinging skin of Seungri’s inner thighs, and Seungri gasps as Jiyong pulls him even further apart.

He feels exposed, not just because he’s naked and Jiyong isn’t, but because he can’t see Jiyong anymore; just feel his breath there, behind his balls, hot and wet and close. Seungri squeezes his eyes closed, because he hates this part too. He hates all of it. Almost as much as he loves it, because even if Jiyong isn’t _all here_ , what is here is focused entirely on Seungri. Only wants Seungri.

Even if Jiyong isn’t _all here_ , Seungri can please him like this. Seungri likes pleasing Jiyong, because no matter how much he grows up, he still finds himself craving approval from Jiyong as much as he ever has.

And this is…

Just another way that Seungri is useful. Besides, Jiyong thinks Seungri’s the prettiest when he can see the red against the pale, and see the purples and greens against the pinks.

And then Jiyong’s tongue is circling the ring of muscle, pressing in hastily as Seungri chokes back a gasp. Jiyong’s tongue feels too thick, stretching him as it dives in and then pulls out. It’s intensified by the way Jiyong’s nose keeps rubbing across his balls, and the way the bite marks sting and burn, from the air and the brush of Jiyong’s wrists, and Seungri’s cock is demanding attention that it’s not going to get. Jiyong licks and laps as his hands pull Seungri apart, and Seungri wants to push against the intrusion and heat of Jiyong’s mouth; does, a little, but he holds himself still through sheer force of will, because Seungri has always been strong like that.

Jiyong twists his tongue inside him, curling up and stretching out, stretching Seungri out, and Seungri almost can’t take the pressure. And then Jiyong slips a single finger inside, and Seungri feels raw, every centimeter of the digit held tightly by his muscles, the walls gripping tight as Seungri leaks onto his stomach and clenches his eyes even tighter closed, and he wonders if Jiyong is looking at him as he falls apart.

Jiyong scrapes his teeth along the underside of Seungri’s balls, and maybe it’s the threat more than the actual touch that makes him come, just like that, hands grasping at sheets and mattress as his hips buck upwards, and Jiyong’s hands are pushing up along his skin, across nerve endings alive with sensation, and into the mess that’s slippery above his navel and on his chest. 

Seungri tries to catch his breath, but Jiyong is planting tiny kisses up the trail of hair from his softening erection. Seungri’s coming down from his high, and now he aches, muscles sore from being held too taunt for too long, and cuts and bites along his thighs starting to burn now that Jiyong’s lips and tongue no longer distract him from the pain.

He presses his lips together as Jiyong dips his tongue into Seungri’s navel, cleaning the skin there, before he bites down, hard , and Seungri flinches, and grunts, and Jiyong looks up at him, eyes still swimming and glassy and almost vacant, and then he moves.

Seungri doesn’t realize he’s being kissed until he tastes himself, salty and bitter, on Jiyong’s tongue, as it wraps around his own, swiping at the palette of his mouth and roughly pressing on his teeth. Jiyong’s hardness is jerkily pushing into his hip, the fabric of Jiyong’s shorts too harsh against his abrasions, and Seungri keens into the kiss, knowing the sound will be swallowed by Jiyong’s hungry mouth. Jiyong’s hands grasp at Seungri’s shoulders as he rocks desperately, and his rings cut into the skin and Seungri knows the moment Jiyong comes, because those rings and Jiyong’s broken, bitten-down nails slice into his shoulders and Jiyong’s mouth goes slack and lazy. 

Seungri pulls his hands from the sheets and dares a draw along Jiyong’s back with his palm; the material of Jiyong’s t-shirt is smooth, and Seungri wonders if his hands are smooth enough to be touching it.

Jiyong, spent, collapses against him, half on top of him and half on Seungri’s formerly clean sheets, and Seungri is sticky and gross and needs a second shower, but Jiyong’s got an arm snaked around his waist, so Seungri can’t move because Jiyong is stronger than he looks.

Seungri dozes off to the rhythmic sound of Jiyong’s heartbeat, which sounds a little more like Jiyong’s music than it should. When he wakes up, Jiyong is gone, and Seungri is alone, with only the stinging along his thighs and belly, and the purple finger-shaped marks under his knees, to remind him that Jiyong was ever there at all.

Tomorrow, they’ll both pretend this never happened. It won’t be the first time. Seungri always means to say no, but for all the things Seungri _can_ do, that’s something he can’t.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my kink-bingo square for bites/bruises. Part of the challenge for me is going to be keeping at LEAST half my squares under 5k, so we’ll see how it goes.


End file.
